


I Will Not Leave You Comfortless

by BrighteyedJill



Series: In My Master's House 'Verse [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Christmas, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-24
Updated: 2011-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-20 14:36:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/586441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrighteyedJill/pseuds/BrighteyedJill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade comes to Mycroft on Christmas Eve ready to talk, but not knowing what to say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Will Not Leave You Comfortless

**Author's Note:**

> Set before [In My Master’s House Are Many Rooms](http://brighteyed-jill.livejournal.com/98015.html) but after the flashbacks from [The Place Where I Am Going.](http://brighteyed-jill.livejournal.com/102048.html) In other words, this takes place in the middle of [Believe Also In Me](http://brighteyed-jill.livejournal.com/116237.html).

Lestrade entered through the servants’ door to the master suite to see Mycroft facing the fire, brandy snifter in his hand. 

“You may go, Clarke,” Mycroft said. “I’ll do without your assistance tonight.”

“It’s me, sir.”

A lesser man might have whirled around, but Mycroft merely tensed. Lestrade noticed the slight shift in his shoulders that betrayed the movement. The half-empty glass was set gently on the mantel as a cover for Mycroft’s pressing closed a wooden box next to it, whose lid had been lifted. Mycroft turned to present a perfectly placid exterior. “I didn’t expect you tonight.”

“I didn’t mean to intrude, sir.” Lestrade dropped his eyes to the floor, adopting a more proper, formal attitude. “I only thought…”

“Yes, Gregory?”

Without looking, Lestrade couldn’t be sure of the intention behind those words. Even if he’d been brazen enough to sneak a look, he knew Mycroft’s face would give away nothing. “I thought you might want some company, sir.” 

Mycroft turned around to retrieve his drink, and kept his back turned. “I had thought I was clear before, Gregory. You needn’t perform any function in this household that you find unsavoury. Especially not when-- ”

The main door to the suite banged open. “Mycroft, I’ll need you to inform Mummy that— ” Sherlock stopped short upon seeing Lestrade, who, for his part, kept his eyes fixed firmly on the ground. He wasn’t ready to look Sherlock in the face. Not yet, and maybe not ever again.

“Oh,” Sherlock said. “I see.”

“Yes.” Mycroft moved quickly to the door, holding it open and gesturing with a most un-Mycroftian overtness. “If you have anything to say to our mother, I’ll please you to say it yourself. You’re a grown man and a Lord. Good night.”

Lestrade risked raising his eyes to watch the strange exchange; neither of the brothers had a glance to spare for him now that they were facing off.

“Oh, I see,” Sherlock said again. He drifted further into the room, far too casually. When he approached the mantel, with its square wooden box, Mycroft moved quickly to intercept him. Sherlock was faster, however, and he snatched the box out from under Mycroft’s hand, whirling away triumphantly as he swept the lid off the box. “Ha!”

Mycroft stilled where he was, going stone-faced.

Sherlock stared into the box. He glanced up at Lestrade, who quickly dropped his eyes to the floor, but not before catching a glimpse of black leather and a glint of silver inside. 

Sherlock pressed the lid back onto box. He swept back over to Mycroft. “I’ve never known you to exchange Christmas gifts.” He shoved the box at him. “I’ll be expecting a present this year. Good night, Mycroft.” He strode toward the door, but hesitated for a moment on the doorstep. His eyes swept across the room toward Lestrade, but he said nothing else, and disappeared a moment later. 

Mycroft closed the door gently behind his brother. He held the box tightly in both hands. In the heavy silence, he moved to the mantel, replaced the box, took up his glass, and downed the rest of the brandy. “Gregory,” he said eventually. “I think it best if we continue this conversation in the new year, after my family has departed.”

“As you wish, sir.” Lestrade bowed his head further, and wished he dared ask what was going through his master’s busy mind. 

“Goodnight, Gregory.”

“Goodnight, sir.” Lestrade knew a dismissal when he heard one, and he retreated the way he’d come. He hadn’t been able to ask the questions he wanted this night, but at least he had some hope that soon, Mycroft would provide answers.


End file.
